Friends, fellow junkies, ex-addicts, sympathizers and supporters, we’ve reached a time of critical importance. A war has been waged upon us. We hoped beyond hope that peaceful negotiation would be possible. That through compassion, understanding and respect for human rights we could prevent unnecessary conflict. That hope is not all lost, but white ribbons and peace flags are no longer adequate. We must face the enemy on their soil. Fight fire with fire in order to stand our ground. Like the Native Americans shoved onto reservation, or the internment camps filled with Japanese, our place has been designated, far removed from civilized society. Their crusade will not end until every last one of us has been shackled, chained and broken. Whether six feet under or in the gutters they’ve dug for us, they do not care. So long as we’re silenced and exterminated from their neighborhoods like rats in a…

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“A mild degree of junk sickness always brought me the magic of childhood. ‘It never fails,’ I thought. ‘Just like a shot. I wonder if all junkies score for this wonderful stuff.’” -William S. Burroughs

True junk romance is to be totally alone, no matter whose eyes stare back at you with desire.

Relapse brings back the dreams. Withdrawal brings back the yearning. I can feel her calling, her shiver down my spine. We’re addicted to the withdrawal just as much as the high. The relapse makes the agony of her withdrawal worth every second.

In junk dreamtime, she teases me with visions of the ones I loved enough to pose a threat to her. I fell in love with her at first touch. She’s jealous because I fell in love with you at first sight.

I can see your brown eyes staring into mine in that fluorescent room with grey carpet and old computers humming to the drone of a lecture by a woman with an ironic obsession for Robert Carlyle. She can put me there with you right now, years ago, forever, some day soon. Beautiful with your short brown hair and olive skin, your elvish smile, your eyes never too coy to draw away from my gaze. Do you still exist? Will you ever? Junk makes time travelers of us all and gives us scattered dreams where we had lives as smooth as ravens’ claws.

I used to believe in love at first sight until I met her. She taunts me with your ghost and I’ve lost everything but your eyes. Dark eyes that stare into my empty soul. You’ll never exist again at seventeen, in this moment or in my collapsing future. And she’ll never let me go. I’ll only have your eyes watching me from the past, a cruel gift from her as she waits around the corner and in the dark alleys I’m drawn toward as I’m pulled away from you.

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“After a shooting spree, they always want to take the guns away from the people who didn’t do it. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to live in a society where the only people allowed guns are the police and the military.” William S. Burroughs, 1992 (yes, I’m aware of the irony).

control your gun.
no tongue
no touching
control your love
with a bullet.
let’s get trigger happy
together
send flowers
to your funeral.
send bullets signed:
sincerely,
the end.
(of you)

Wait.
17 minutes.
quiet. there.
someone just got shot
to death.
black kid probably.
not a person of use
to gun control advocates
NRA
feminists
his name
won’t be
in the papers.

don’t want to
get shot in America?
carry a gun at all?
(times)
never leave home?
(without a IIIA vest)

all Japan is an island.
an unarmed society
is a polite society.
the police carry
batons.
the criminals steal
bicycles.
totally implausible
you’d be shot.
maybe
groped.

if you want to feel
so safe
in America,
you had better start building
walls
writing
new constitutions
get better
police.
end poverty.
end drug wars.
well,
you know
that’s a lot of trouble
and you have
so many guns.

you could try asking nicely
for the police,
when a gun is aimed
at you.
they’re over there
busy
writing
parking
tickets.

maybe you would like
only criminals;cops,
to shoot people?
wait til you get shot
by a criminal/cop.
i won’t tell you
i told you so.
when you then buy a gun
or move to Japan
where you won’t need one.